A great deal was the matter.  First, the ominous words had been upon her tongue.  “It was here where the stem joins the flower;” but she recollected herself in time.  Next came up the past vision of the place and hour when the accident occurred.  Her hanging sleeve had swept it off the table.  Mr. Carlyle was in the room, and he had soothed her sorrow—­her almost childish sorrow with kisses sweet.  Ah me! poor thing!  I think our hands would have shaken as hers did.  The ornament and the kisses were Barbara’s now.

“I ran quickly up the stairs and back again,” was the explanation she offered to Mrs. Carlyle for her shaking hands.

At that moment Mr. Carlyle and their guests were heard to return, and ascend to their respective apartments, Lord Vane’s gleeful voice echoing through the house.  Mr. Carlyle came into his wife’s dressing-room, and Madame Vine would have made a precipitate retreat.

“No, no,” said Barbara, “finish it, now you have begun.  Mr. Carlyle will be going to his room.  Look at the misfortune I have had.  Archibald, I have broken this.”

Mr. Carlyle glanced carelessly at the trinket, and at Madame Vine’s white fingers.  He crossed to the door of his dressing-room and opened it, then held out his hand in silence for Barbara to approach and drew her in with him.  Madame Vine went on with her work.

Presently Barbara returned, and approached the table where stood Madame Vine, while she drew on her gloves.  Her eyelashes were wet.

“I could not help shedding a few tears of joy,” exclaimed Barbara, with a pretty blush, perceiving that madame observed the signs.  “Mr. Carlyle has been telling me that my brother’s innocence is now all but patent to the world.  It came out upon the examination of those two men, Sir Francis and Otway Bethel.  Lord Mount Severn was present at the proceedings, and says they have in some way incriminated each other.  Papa sat in his place as chairman; I wonder that he liked to do so.”

Lower bent the head of Madame Vine over her employment.  “Has anything been proved against them?” she asked, in her usual soft tone, almost a whisper.

“There is not the least doubt of the guilt of Levison, but Otway Bethel’s share in the affair is a puzzle yet,” replied Mrs. Carlyle.  “Both are committed for trial.  Oh, that man! that man! how his sins come out!” she continued in excitement.

Madame Vine glanced up through her spectacles.

“Would you believe,” continued Barbara, dropping her voice, “that while West Lynne, and I fear ourselves also, gave that miserable Afy credit for having gone away with Richard, she was all the time with Levison?  Ball, the lawyer got her to confess to-day.  I am unacquainted with the details; Mr. Carlyle would not give them to me.  He said the bare fact was quite enough, and considering the associations it involved, would not do to talk of.”

Mr. Carlyle was right.